


Awakening

by Talkin_to_a_Lady



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Chair Sex, F/M, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talkin_to_a_Lady/pseuds/Talkin_to_a_Lady
Summary: A slow Monday night in your Father's Saloon quickly changes into a raucous affair as the Van der Linde men appear for  "a celebration".Little did shy Arthur Morgan realise, but he was in for a much more exciting night than he had anticipated.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader
Kudos: 46





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Set a couple of years prior to RDR2

The heavy sigh you produce from him rolls his warm whiskey-soaked breath across the side of your face as you lightly run your tongue up behind his ear, that same sigh tells you he’s finally beginning to relax.  
“ _There, Cowboy_ ,” you purr as you press yourself tighter against him, your thighs wrapped at his waist as he leans back in the chair, “ _this ain’t so bad is it?_ ”  
All you hear is a deep, hoarse noise from his throat in acknowledgement. His hands twitch hesitantly from their hovering point at your hips, but with one additional grind against him, any qualms he had are gone and he runs his palms up the side of your thighs; dragging them over your ass and up your back, searching for your hair as he manoeuvres you to be face to face with him again before he pulls you hungrily to his mouth, entangling his hand through the soft curls pinned at the back of your head.

_Hours Earlier_

The saloon seems busier than normal for a Monday night; there’s a new crowd you don’t recognise taking up all of the Poker table, the tables around it, and the bar. And the working girls.  
They’re rowdy, and boisterous for the most part, though so far nothing violent has happened. You glance a cautious sideways look at your father as he chews his lip in a scowl while he cleans the same glass over and over behind his bar. With a sigh, you make your way across to the man waving at you; his light smile peeks out under a thick black moustache, “Ah! Hello dear! My compadres and I are looking to have a fun and enriching night in your fine establishment, and I was hoping you would be able to accommodate that?”  
You look at the man grinning at you, and then lift your eyes to scan the areas they have infiltrated to already begin their enjoyment, “Well, sir, I’m afraid to say it ain’t my establishment, but I can ask my Father to speak with you?” You turn back towards the angry glass cleaner behind the bar, and smirk a little at his expression before turning back and seeing the two men closest to you doing the same.  
“Well he seems like an _amiable_ chap, eh Arthur?” you look at the younger man as his broad, muscular shoulder gets slapped by his friend, and you feel your face heat up as he looks at you from the corner of his sea glass-green eyes.  
“The _cheeriest_ of fellas, Dutch!” he chuckles into his whiskey bottle, his gaze darting back to his friend as you catch his eye.  
“If you could bring him over presently, my good lady, I would be _most_ appreciative.”

The night continues to become more raucous as the group end up clearing a lot of the bar of the regulars, until finally the biggest oaf of the lot tries to start a fight with a scrawnier blonde man over a game of cards, which escalates to them both being manhandled outside by the brawny fellow you’d spied earlier. You watch with an eye roll towards your Father who happily allows the ruckus to ensue and lead to an upturned Poker table thanks to a very generous stack of bills shoved into his shirt pocket by the man called ‘Dutch’.  
Once the energy from the brawl dies down, everyone not outside shifts away from the disarray with no regard for tidying it. One shove in your shoulder from your Father tells you that’s your job.  
With a disgruntled pout, you stomp your way over to the mess, right all the chairs, and then set yourself to struggle with the heavy oak Poker table.  
“Oh! erm, I’m sorry, Miss… Here, lemme help you.” Suddenly you feel the warm presence of that deep, gruff voice squat down beside you and help push the table back up onto its feet. You don’t actually lift the thing at all as you watch him move it with ease from your crouching position.  
“You alright?!”  
You realise that you’re on your knees when he stands up and faces you, towering over you as he looks down at you a little uncomfortably  
“Uhm-”  
“Need a hand up?” He smiles and reaches his hand down to you, you thank him and allow yourself to be hoisted effortlessly back to your feet with one swift pull of his arm, “There. All done… Listen, I -er- I’m sorry about those fellas, they ain’t the easiest to deal with at the best of times as it is… I hope we ain’t caused too much trouble for your Pa.”  
“Nothin’ your dapper friend can’t fix with a stack of bills it would seem.” You mutter a little judgementally before melting when you look back to your assistant and see him as he stands awkwardly at your side; avoiding eye contact with a neck rub.  
“Thank you for your help, Mister…?”  
“Morgan, Arthur Morgan. It’s no trouble, Ma’am.”  
You look from his friends cavorting with the saloon girls at the opposite side of the room, back to the man beside you. He’s taller than average and broad; a great statue of a man that you’ve not seen the likes of in your town, maybe ever, “What brings you here today, Mister Morgan? Why all the celebrations on a Monday of all days?”  
“… Erm… Oh! Well we just got done on a big-err _trail…_!”  
“… Like a cattle trail?”  
“Yes! Ermm… we had to bring some livestock here… Made some money so we’re celebratin’.”  
You eye the handsome man with some amused suspicion, “ _So, you’re cattle men…? Okay_.” You turn back to watch his friends capering animatedly with the girls, “Well, I best leave you to your… _celebratin’…_ Them girls will look after you no trouble.” As you turn and pick up some discarded glasses you notice that Arthur shuffles uncomfortably; his forehead furrows with a slight panic.  
“I think they’ve got their hands full as it is.”  
You give him one obvious, flirtatious look up and down his body, “I don’t see how they could do if you ain’t in the mix, _Cowboy_. Have a good night.” You sway yourself off towards the kitchen with a pile of dirty dishes, leaving Mister Morgan where he stands.

20 minutes later you go out the back of the saloon to empty the dish water, and jump as you see the solid silhouette of Arthur Morgan mid-cigarette.  
“You don’t have to smoke outside you know.”  
“I’m sorry, Miss.. Just needed some air.”  
You dry off your hands and walk over to him; something about him is magnetic; every roll of his shoulder, and twist at his waist as he watches you in the dark kicks an ache through you, “You not havin’ fun?”   
“Their kinda fun right now ain’t really for me.” He mutters as he draws the final breaths of his cigarette, looking out to the moonlight.  
“What? You don’t like girls?”  
“Not when I have to pay for ‘em, no.” he turns and winces a shy smile at you which makes the heat crawl across your body, “Besides,” he clears his throat as he throws the end of his smoke away, “there’s more to life than that.”  
You laugh, astounded at this man’s attitude; even if you seriously question their story about being cattle drivers, you can tell when a man has been long on the trail, and long without the company of a woman; you’ve been the kindly Samaritan in that situation once or twice.  
“What’s so funny?” he snaps; a little hurt by your reaction.  
“You.” You walk over to some crates filled with whiskey, pull two bottles and hand one to him; your eyes flickering mischievously in the moonlight, “Now either you ain’t had good experiences in that department, or you ain’t had experiences _at all_ … And judgin’ by the way you carry yourself, I _highly doubt_ it’s the latter.”  
Arthur smirks as he takes a sip of his drink, “You’re a very assured young lady.”  
The deep rumble in his voice encourages something in you, “Mister Morgan, _you have no idea_.”  
“… I ain’t that lucky with women…” he mumbles into his bottle, almost shame faced, as he leans on the fencing at the edge of your grounds, “I’ve decided it’s just safer for everyone if I keep to myself.”  
You sidle up to him and match his stance, your body as close to his as possible in public. The warmth from his skin radiates out like a summer breeze, and the smell of him causes you to throw caution to the wind, “Ain’t that up to the ladies to decide?”  
Arthur turns to you with a sad smile, “No. Not for a long time.” He clinks his whiskey bottle against yours and turns to head back inside.  
“What are you scared of?” you tease to his broad back; it makes him stop and twist his head towards you, “You scared of a little fun?”  
“What’s your name?”  
“Y/N.”  
“Well, _Y/N_ , I’d say I have learned how to have fun without causin’ bother to ladies by now. Good evenin’.”  
“Do you like to gamble, Arthur?” you call; desperate to stop him from stepping beyond that threshold – to his right is your bedroom door and something about that roars at your core.  
He turns to look at you, “ _Why?_ ”  
You slowly begin to saunter up to him. You can’t explain it, but everything about the man draws a need from you, “I wager, I can guarantee that you can have more fun _botherin’ me_ , than you could any other way tonight.”  
Arthur blusters a laugh, “I don’t think I’ve met somebody so forward in my life! What is this?”  
You step up to him, place your hand flat against his sturdy chest, and lean into his face to whisper, “A wager, _Mister Morgan_.” You feel his body heat increase as his heart begins to pound.  
A dirty smile peels itself across his bristled jaw and he takes a drink while you stay locked on his gaze, unmoved from your place against his chest, “You’re nothin’ but talk, I ain’t bettin’ on that.”  
“Scared of losin’?” you purr as you pout a little.  
“ _You’re crazy!”_ he hisses with a laugh and he pushes you gently backwards, his hands staying at your waist, “ _And this is your Father’s place! I ain’t about to cause more fights!_ ”  
You stand on your tiptoes and peer over Arthur’s shoulder, holding onto his wrists at your sides for balance, “Looks like your friends are keepin’ him nicely distracted.” You feel his hands flex at your hips; caught in a quandary about whether they should be removed from their place or pulling you closer. You look back to him; a thin sheen of sweat has appeared at his temples as his gaze sweeps across your neckline, up to your mouth and sheepishly lands at your own eyes. His lips are slightly parted as he tries to find any voice through his faster breathing.  
“Don’t you worry, Mister Morgan,” you slide your hand over his and lead him into your room swiftly, “I’ll take good care of you.”  
Without a word, Arthur lets you lead him. He’s reeling from the gall of your forwardness; wiping a thick palm over his face in disbelief as you turn and remove the whiskey bottle from his other hand and place it on your bed side table.  
“Take a seat.” You say nonchalantly to him, gesturing to the one chair by your dressing table as you lean against the foot of your bed.   
Regaining some control over his mind, Arthur sits with a laugh and shakes his head, “Lady, you are not all there are ya?”  
“Why?” you chuckle.  
“Listen, Y/N, this has been a funny joke, but I’m gonna get back to the party.”  
“Alright.” You sigh and peer up to the ceiling as the sounds of laughter and furniture scraping stomp over your heads, “Though I think you’d have to pay to.”  
“ _For Christ’s sake!_ ”  
“I’m sorry my company is such a Hell for you, Sir!” you say, a little hurt.  
“It ain’t! Just…” Arthur sighs and drops his head, “Just I ain’t in the fashion of this sorta thing is all… Not for a while.”  
You walk up to him and lean down, resting your hands on his knees as you look into his beautiful green-blue eyes, “Didn’t I say I’d take good care of you?”  
“…You did.” He mumbles with a shy smile playing at his lips.  
“Wouldn’t you like me to _shake off_ some of the rust…?”  
Without looking at you he flicks a sly eyebrow and that dirty smirk appears back at the corner of his mouth.  
“Well then…” you run your hands over the tops of his thighs and feel the muscles through the tightly stretched denim of his jeans; the heat coming from him hits you in waves as you move yourself into his lap and wrap your legs at his waist, nestling yourself comfortably between his legs and the very large, solid length that strains against his button fly. His hands hover lightly at your hips as he looks at you; confused and amazed all at once.  
“You can relax, Arthur, I ain’t gonna bite you… Unless you Like that…” you mutter as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull lightly at his earlobe with your teeth, causing his muscles to clench and his hips to push up slightly.   
Arthur’s breath becomes ragged as you shift yourself forward, bringing one hand to his shoulder, and the other to the back of his head as you reach the base of his neck with your lips. He tastes sweet and smoky; of tobacco and pine salt. His head rolls back as you run the tip of your nose up the strained muscle connecting his collarbone to his ear, breathing hot air out against his skin; making it pucker, causing his whole body to shift and squirm with want. The heat at his fly combines with your own as you grind against the fabric, “ _There, Cowboy_ , _this ain’t so bad is it?_ ”  
He pulls you against him urgently, gripping the back of your head firmly as he pushes his tongue between your lips and locks it with your own. A deep whimper huffs from his nose as you grip him back the same. Eventually, he relinquishes your mouth and takes his hand from your head, running it up your shins, under your skirts and up your thigh as he keeps you clamped close to him with the other at your waist, leaning forward and dragging his thick lips across your throat. He pulls your pelvis tightly against his own with the hand at your thigh, causing a gasp of pleasure to spill from you, and you feel him smile against your skin as he begins to explore under your skirt with more vigour.  
You pull down his braces and he obligingly shifts his arms as quickly as he can in order to be free of them before you tug and untuck his shirt, beginning to unbutton it as he goes back to focusing his tongue on your collarbone, running his mouth down to the top of your breasts as you bring your hands to the back of his head while his own push you tightly down against the strain in his jeans; the quietest of deep groans rumbling from deep within him. You gently push him away from you and move to get off him, and he looks back at you grief-stricken and breathless; his shirt open revealing a light dusting of chest hair rising and falling as he continues to try and catch his breath.  
“Don’t worry, I ain’t goin’ far.” You reassure him as you place your hands on his knees once more and open his legs, kneeling deftly between them, and nimbly unbuckling his cartridge belt, placing it delicately on the floor.  
Arthur places a rough warm hand at your cheek, “ _Y/N_ , you don’t need to-”  
“Shhhh…” you kiss his palm and nuzzle your cheek into it, looking at him with each ‘ _pop_ ’ of the buttons on his jeans, before finally taking your hand to free him.  
The size of him takes you back for a second when you feel his hot, silken length in your hand, “Well, Mister Morgan!” you look up at him, playfully wide eyed  
“I-”  
“You been keepin’ this poor fella _deprived_?” Arthur’s head drops backwards, and he runs his hands over his face, huffing a half-embarrassed-half-proud laugh through his fingers before running them through his dark blonde hair as you gently run your hand up and down before placing your lips over him.  
“ _Uuuuh, Jesus_ ” he exclaims breathlessly, his head rolling forward as he watches you take him in your mouth and he brings his hands to the sides of your head, tangling his fingers through your hair, feeling the movement of you as you shift to try and incorporate the whole of him, running your tongue up his shaft, toying with the tip of him. You feel his thighs tighten, and the sweat is beginning to soak through the denim of his pants as his hands grip you tighter and he begins to coax you into moving quicker.  
“ _Darlin’…_ ” he manages as his head drops backwards again; his eyes clamped in ecstasy. You feel him twitch and pulse against your tongue as you speed your motion, spurred on by the moans he makes above you, your own ache increasing with every sigh, groan, and push of him, and you dig your fingers deep into his thighs.  
Suddenly he pulls you off him, sweeps you up from the ground and places you hurriedly back onto his lap, kissing your neck and collarbone desperately as he fumbles at your skirt; pushing it hungrily out of his way and pawing at your underwear until he finds the split and taking his middle finger to the sweet spot above your opening. You grip his shoulders and gasp with desire as he looks at you, bringing his index finger to you as well, sliding both digits to your centre, and slowly slipping inside, smiling at your already slicked core, “ _Darlin’, you been keepin’ this pretty thing deprived?_ ” he growls with a smile as he holds you at the hip with his free hand and kisses the base of your throat while he curls his fingers inside you and pushes the knuckle of his thumb against your bundle of nerves. You can feel his hardness pressed between his abdomen and yours, and you bring your hand down to meet it, sliding your soft grip gently up him, causing Arthur to miss a stride as he buries his head into your chest with a groan. He inhales deeply and, with eyes tight shut, goes back to beckoning you towards your orgasm, his grip tightening on your hip as he tries to not get distracted by your motions. Eventually he lifts your hand from him and raises you up enough to invite you to sit over him. Your desperation to feel him inside you overpowers your sensibilities and you feel the sting of the size of him as you rush to be filled. You both moan loudly in unison. He is thick and solid inside you; stretching you out with every rock back and forth, it’s not long until you feel the waves of your pleasure reach their height, and you grip his waist tightly with your thighs as you call his name. He grips your waist and pushes you down over him with great strength, his teeth bared as you grind faster and faster until his muscles clench, firing his hips off the chair. He moans your name desperately as you feel him come undone inside you, the rolling of his hips slows as he brings you both back, breathless and sweating, sitting on the chair.  
“You look like you could use a drink!” you joke breathlessly as you begin to bring your arms down from around his neck.  
“I could use a change of clothes,” Arthur chuckles, taking your wrist as it begins to drop, and kissing the inside of your forearm. He’s drenched in sweat; his hair is sticking in all directions and you smile trying to slick it back into some kind of order, before running your hands down to the soft light blanket of hair at his chest, bending to give it a light kiss.  
You begin to get up to reach for his whiskey bottle, but he stops you; holding you in his arms and looking at you earnestly, “What was this?”  
“I think you could tell, given you were there, Mister Morgan.”  
“You know what I mean.” He mumbles both embarrassed and hopeful.  
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” you say gently as you prize yourself away from him and pass him his whiskey.  
He takes the bottle from your hand and looks up at you, “… Can it be the same again tomorrow?”


End file.
